


Strange Harmonies

by ominousunflower



Series: Missing the Third [2]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Ice Cream Soulmates, Lukadrien June, Lukadrien June 2019, M/M, Season 3 Spoilers, Silencer Spoilers, Slight Timetagger Spoilers, Sort Of, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 22:27:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19343917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ominousunflower/pseuds/ominousunflower
Summary: Adrien gets the wrong order at André’s ice cream cart. Or, well…it’s definitely not his usual, anyway.“And for the hair…” André deposits another scoop of blue ice cream onto the cone. “Blue cotton candy with chocolate chips.”“Um,” Adrien says. “I’m pretty sure it was blackberry for the hair. And weren’t the chips in strawber—”“And voilà!” André exclaims, presenting the cone with blue ice cream to Adrien. “André’s ice cream brings hearts together, as long as you believe.”





	Strange Harmonies

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! I’m back with a fic that was technically written for Day 20 (Soulmates) of Lukadrien June, though it's not exactly a typical soulmate fic. Sorry I’m a little late! I started this on the 18th and didn’t quite finish it in time. It was supposed to be shorter, but…well, as we all know, I’m not very good at keeping things short, lol. Anyway, on the show, André’s ice cream seems like a soulmate trope, so I decided to use that for the prompt.
> 
> Note: this is basically a sequel to [Missing the Third](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19212790). It takes place in the same universe and is set a few weeks after that fic. However, you probably don’t need to read that fic to understand this one.
> 
> Another note: I did my very best for André's rhyme, but...the French is probably not perfect. I tried, lol.

The third time Adrien’s father forbids him from getting ice cream with his friends, he starts to get frustrated.

Adrien and his three friends had made the plans last week, when Adrien first found out that his fencing lesson on Friday had been cancelled. Knowing that his father would never just _let_ him have free time, Adrien carefully kept this fact to himself, going so far as to leave it on his phone calendar and to speak to Nathalie as if he still had fencing that day.

But somehow—Kagami’s mother, Adrien suspects—Gabriel found out, and now Adrien’s Friday afternoon is to be spent practicing a piano piece he’s played a hundred times before.

“It’s just not fair,” he says to Plagg, leaning his forehead against the piano. He’s been practicing for forty-five minutes, and he’s not sure he can improve his playing much more. “Why can’t I hang out with my friends for once?”

“Why don’t you just sneak out?” Plagg says. He lounges on top of the piano as he contemplates a piece of Camembert in his paws. “Just say _transforme-moi_ and the ice cream is yours! Though I’m more of a cheese kwami, myself. It’s the superior dairy product.”

Idly, Adrien wonders if André has cheese-flavored ice cream, before dismissing the idea as disgusting and wrong. “That won’t work, Plagg. Chat Noir can’t just walk up to Nino, Alya, and Marinette! They’d think I was crazy. And Papillon might…I don’t know, he might target them or something.”

“Chat Noir has walked up to Marinette before,” Plagg points out.

“That’s different,” Adrien says. He assumes Plagg is referring to the night Glaciator attacked, when Chat Noir briefly visited Marinette on her balcony. But it had been late at night, and no one had been around to see him talking to her—not to mention that he’d already been in the neighborhood when he spotted her.

“What about that guy with the blue hair?” Plagg asks, flopping onto the piano keys. The piano responds with a low, muddled chord that hurts Adrien’s ears. “Chat Noir visited _him_ for no reason.”

“It wasn’t for no reason!” Adrien says. “He’d been akumatized. And his room was private, like Marinette’s balcony. No one saw me.”

“Well, then, Chat Noir can get ice cream by himself.” Shrugging, Plagg pops the entire piece of Camembert into his mouth. It’s his third piece in five minutes, and Adrien’s honestly a bit disturbed by the amount of cheese his kwami is able to put away. So little time—and such a tiny body—where does it all _go?_

“It’s not the ice cream I want, Plagg,” Adrien says. “It’s the company. I just want to spend time with my friends, but I can’t do that as Adrien _or_ Chat Noir. If I’m Adrien, the paparazzi will let père know that I sneaked out. And if I’m Chat Noir, everyone will wonder why I’m talking to random civilians.”

Plagg glances up at him with narrowed eyes. “So you _don’t_ want to get ice cream? Because I think I’ve had enough for one transformation. Maybe.”

“One?” Adrien echoes. “Plagg, you just ate half a wheel of cheese! That has to be twice your body weight.”

“I don’t have a body weight,” Plagg says, lying across half an octave of keys. “I’m a god. And I can fly.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“I assure you, I can eat an infinite amount of cheese and gain no weight. Do you want to see?”

If Adrien’s being honest, watching Plagg consume an obscene amount of cheese sounds _slightly_ more entertaining than practicing piano for another fifteen minutes. But only slightly. “No, thanks,” Adrien says. “I, uh…I believe you.”

After Adrien’s practiced for ten more minutes—which really amounts to picking at the keys and waiting for the hour to be up—Nathalie lets Gabriel into Adrien’s room. Hands behind his back, Gabriel stands behind the piano bench and orders Adrien to play the song for him.

Adrien’s fingers move over the keys robotically, playing the song without thought or emotion. It’s over as quickly as it began, and when Adrien turns around, the only response he gets from his father is a thin frown.

“It’s passable,” Gabriel says, “though the tempo was uneven. Don’t accelerate the song. It’s not meant to be rushed.”

And so Adrien plays it again, carefully keeping count in his head as he goes. This time, when he reaches the end, his father nods in approval.

“Good,” he says. “If you still wish to go get ice cream, you may. Your bodyguard will drive you.”

Adrien slides off the piano bench and reaches for his phone. He sees he has an unread text from Nino: _Sorry dude, we’ve got to head out. Marinette’s babysitting Manon and needs Alya’s help. Guess that means I’m on babysitting duty too. Catch you another time!_

“But my friends went home already,” Adrien says, pocketing his phone. “There won’t be anyone there.”

Gabriel shrugs, already striding toward the door. “If you don’t wish to go, then you can get started on your homework. Your most recent marks in math were less than perfect. Remedy that.”

Doing math homework alone, or eating ice cream alone? Both are terrible options, but Adrien will take food over algebra any day. “N-no, I’ll still go,” Adrien says. “Merci, père.”

With a curt nod, Gabriel departs. Once he’s gone, Nathalie closes the door behind him, leaving Adrien alone in his room.

“Why did you thank him?” Plagg asks, hovering at Adrien’s shoulder. “If you ask me, he doesn’t deserve your thanks.”

“At least he’s letting me leave the house,” Adrien says. He holds his shirt open and beckons Plagg toward it. “Come on, hide. Then we can go.”

“You have incredibly low standards,” Plagg mutters, flying inside Adrien’s shirt. _“At least he doesn’t lock me up. At least he doesn’t starve me to death._ You’re far too complacent.”

“You’re one to talk,” Adrien says. “All it takes to make you happy is cheese.”

“ _Good_ cheese,” Plagg corrects, his voice muffled by Adrien’s clothing. “I don’t just settle for any kind! Especially not those dreadful non-dairy imposters. They’re absolutely horrific.”

Adrien rolls his eyes as he descends the stairs to the first floor. “Some people have bigger problems than cashew cheese, you know.”

“Like horribly neglectful parents?” Plagg grumbles. “Oh, I agree.”

The Gorilla is waiting for Adrien by the door. He escorts him to the car and closes the door behind him, then slips into the driver’s seat and takes off down the street. He’s quiet as always, though Adrien kind of appreciates that about him. It’s better than the constant stream of disappointment that comes from his father’s lips.

When the car pulls to a stop next to the Pont des Arts bridge, Adrien’s phone vibrates with a text from Marinette. _I’m sorry you couldn’t get ice cream with us! We missed you :(_

Adrien smiles as he types a response. _It’s okay. I’m getting some now. It looks like André’s still here._

A few minutes later, when he’s standing in line at André’s ice cream cart, Marinette responds. _Oh, that’s good!!! Have fun :)_

After replying with _thanks_ and an ice cream emoji _,_ Adrien locks his phone and slips it into his pocket. He’s glad Nino and Marinette cared enough to text him, though it doesn’t do much to make the feeling of isolation go away. Texts or emojis won’t change the fact that his father keeps him trapped in his room while his friends hang out without him.                                                             

Sometimes, Adrien wonders if his friends really get it, because they never seem to understand how much it bothers him. And since they always act like his absence is a minor inconvenience, he feels compelled to act like that, too: _It’s no big deal. Have fun without me! Maybe next time._ In reality, it kills him to watch everyone else have fun while he slaves away trying to please his father.

And for sure, pleasing his father is an impossible task—like Sisyphus with his rock, or Cinderella with her lentils, Adrien’s not intended to succeed. No, Gabriel will never give him that satisfaction. Any time Adrien comes close, his father simply moves the bar higher until it’s out of reach.

Adrien knows he should probably give up; it’s useless to strive for the unachievable. And yet, he’s afraid to find out what happens if he does. Some small part of him believes that the endless toiling is the only thing that keeps his father loving him, and if Adrien stops, then…

“Ah, Adrien Agreste!” André’s voice bellows.

Blinking, Adrien realizes he’s reached the front of the line. “Oh. Salut, André.”

“I’ve seen you before,” André says, grabbing a cone from his stand. “And yet you’ve come back alone? No lover on your arm?”

Adrien rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “No, not yet.”

Last time, when André offered him ice cream on the house, Adrien had been hopeful—he’d really believed that the ice cream was magic, that a berry-flavored desert would somehow bring him and Ladybug together. But André’s ice cream can’t even bring Adrien together with his friends, much less a lover. The idealist in him doesn’t want to admit it, but maybe André’s ice cream is just a placebo.

Not that he would ever tell André that. Didn’t Marinette say something similar to André the night he got akumatized? Ladybug and Chat Noir have enough problems without Adrien getting the glacier reakumatized.

“Ah, well,” André says, “André’s ice cream is never wrong! La glace d’André, c’est—”

“De l’amour,” Adrien finishes. “I know! Maybe it’s just a…delayed effect. I’m sure your ice cream works, André.”

“Don’t be down, Monsieur Agreste,” André says. He grabs his ice cream scoop and waves it around as he speaks. “André’s ice cream will lift your spirits. Now, let me see. Was it blueberry, last time?”

Adrien nods. “For the eyes.”

“Indeed. Blue raspberry for the eyes…”

“Wait,” Adrien says, “you said blueberry—”

“And for the hair…” André deposits another blue scoop of ice cream onto the cone. “Blue cotton candy with chocolate chips.”

“Um,” Adrien says. “I’m pretty sure it was blackberry for the hair. And weren’t the chips in strawber—”

“And voilà!” André exclaims, presenting the cone with blue ice cream to Adrien. “André’s ice cream brings hearts together, as long as you believe.”

Adrien _believes_ André has given him the wrong order, though again, he’s not about to say that. He’s in a bad enough mood already, and his day will only get worse if he has to re-battle an angry, humanoid pile of ice cream.

Or, worse, what if Mayura sends a sentimonstre instead? What would that even look like? A waffle cone warrior? A syrup samurai? No, Adrien doesn’t have the energy for any of that. He’s going to stay on André’s good side today.

“Excuse me,” a woman behind Adrien says. “Are you going to pay for your order?”

“Oh.” Adrien fumbles for his wallet. “Yes, sorry.” He shoves far too many coins into André’s hands and crams his wallet back into his pocket. “You can keep the change! Merci. I’ll be going now.”

Adrien starts back toward his car, but then André calls after him, “The river is bluer that way!”

Brow furrowed, Adrien turns around. “What?”

André winks. “Blue ice cream should be enjoyed near something blue, non?”

Adrien glances both directions, taking in the Seine to either side. It all seems equally blue to him—vaguely gray, in fact. “Both sides looks the same, monsieur.”

Brandishing his scoop, André sings, _“On ne doit jamais douter, la magique de ce glacier!”_

At this point, Adrien’s not only questioning André’s magic—he’s also questioning the man’s sanity. And yet, the threat of a giant ice cream villain is enough to keep Adrien’s mouth shut. Instead, he merely nods and strolls toward the other end of the bridge, using his free hand to text the Gorilla that he’ll be taking a quick walk.

As Adrien walks, he passes several couples enjoying a cone of ice cream together. Some have the strawberry flavor Adrien had before, while others seem to be enjoying the blackberry. _Shoot._ There goes Adrien’s theory that André ran out of those flavors. It looks like André really did just give him the wrong order.

After all, what else can it be? Whether he’s Adrien or Chat Noir, he’s gotten the same order from André every time he’s been here. Strawberry with chips for her suit, blackberry for her hair, and blueberry for her eyes. Even now, Adrien remembers the elation he’d felt when André first served him that ice cream: finally, cosmic confirmation that he and his lady were meant to be together. It’s silly, but whenever he finds himself wondering if she cares, he’s always clung to that stupid ice cream order to reassure himself.

And now…did Adrien do something wrong? His stomach sinks. Did he say something to make his lady hate him? Did she finally get together with that other boy she likes? Is she going to leave him without a word, just disappear without a trace one day and never call or—

Adrien takes a shaky breath. He’d be lying if he said he doesn’t have abandonment issues. Then again, that tends to happen when your mother disappears without an explanation and your father becomes so distant that you have to go through his assistant to have dinner with him.

In this moment, Adrien can’t shake the terror that André’s ice cream is a bad sign, a sign that he’s failed _,_ a sign that he’s unwanted. Of course someone like Ladybug would never love him that way. Why would anyone?

Consumed by his thoughts, Adrien doesn’t realize he’s about to run into someone until a hand shoots out to steady him. “Hey, Adrien. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m…” Adrien glances up from his ice cream. “Luka?”

It’s been weeks since Adrien saw the other boy—in fact, the last time they talked had been when Chat Noir visited Luka after his akumatization. Heat rises in Adrien’s cheeks at the memory of that particular conversation. He’d definitely made a gigantic fool of himself that night. On the bright side, though, Luka doesn’t know that Adrien is Chat Noir. At worst, he only thinks that half of Adrien Agreste is an idiot.

Luka raises a half-eaten ice cream in greeting. “Did you get ditched, too?”

“What? Oh.” Adrien shrugs. “Not exactly. I was supposed to get ice cream with Nino and the others earlier, but then my father told me I couldn’t join them. By the time I got here, they’d already gone home.” He attempts a laugh. “That happens sometimes, you know?”

Luka opens his mouth to say something, then stops, frowning. Adrien waits, wondering if it would be weird to lick his ice cream while Luka gathers his thoughts. That’s normal, right? Maybe as long as he doesn’t make eye contact. Yeah, eye contact would definitely make it weird.

Before Adrien can resolve that particular dilemma, Luka finally speaks. “Is that a normal thing? Does your father usually stop you from going out?”

“Well.” Adrien fixates on his ice cream, avoiding Luka’s eyes. “Kind of. But really, I don’t mind! I got some much-needed piano practice today, so…that’s good.”

Now Luka’s scrutinizing Adrien. “I doubt you need the practice.”

“There’s always room for improvement!” Adrien says hastily. “At least, that’s what père says.”

“Isn’t the point of playing music to have fun?”

“Not if you’re Gabriel Agreste,” Adrien mutters. “I don’t mind, though! I like practicing the same thing over and over again.” He winces as he says that last part. Not enough bite to be sarcasm, and not enough sincerity to make Luka believe him. “What I mean is, I don’t get bored or anything. There’s a lot you can do with one piece in an hour.”

“I’m sorry,” Luka says. “That sounds awful.”

Adrien pauses. Wait—did Luka actually realize that Adrien’s upset? That would be a first. Adrien’s other friends always take him at his word when he says that he’s fine.

“Well,” Adrien says. “I…yeah, kind of. But I mean, it’s no surprise. He does this all the time.”

“That doesn’t make it any better,” Luka says. “Actually, I’m pretty sure that makes it worse.”

“Yeah.” Adrien sighs. “You’re right.”

From inside his shirt, Plagg kicks him. In his language, that’s a loving _I told you so._

Luka smiles at him. “It’s good we ran into each other, then.”

It’s not particularly hot out today, but Luka’s smile sends warmth through every inch of Adrien’s skin. And this fluttering in his stomach is an odd feeling; he knows he’s felt it before, but he can’t exactly place it. Is he just happy to see Luka? That would make sense. Luka Couffaine has a way of instantly making Adrien feel better. Take now, for instance: the two have barely exchanged a few sentences, and already Adrien is lighter, happier.

Except this isn’t the same feeling from the night on Luka’s houseboat. Then, Adrien had felt calm, safe, even a little tired, thanks to the catharsis of Luka’s song. Now, it’s different. Adrien doesn’t feel like curling up and taking a nap—he feels like laughing, running, singing. He’s almost _giddy._

Looking at Luka, he doesn’t quite feel tethered to the ground. If he jumped right now, would he float? No, that’s a stupid thought. Why is he having stupid thoughts? Is this Luka’s doing?

Adrien squints at the boy in front of him. There’s no doubt about it: he feels drawn to those blue eyes, those calloused hands. As much as he racks his brain, though, he can’t figure out why. His best guess is that he wants to be better friends with Luka. Granted, he’s never felt _that_ before, but then again, most of his friendships thus far have come somewhat effortlessly. Nino, Alya, Marinette, Kagami—he’s around them often enough that they’ve naturally gotten closer over time.

Luka, though…Adrien doesn’t want to wait for time to naturally bring them closer. He wants to pursue him.

Maybe that’s a cat thing. Hunt, stalk, catch. Adrien can’t deny he’s felt the occasional urge to chase a bug or a laser pointer—the urge could apply to people, too. Cat tendencies would also explain why Adrien really wants to hold Luka right now. That was why he hugged him last time, wasn’t it? Adrien’s undeniably a heat-seeking creature, and he knows from experience that Luka’s arms are strong and warm.

Mystery solved, Adrien nods to himself. “That must be it.”

Luka’s mouth tugs into a confused smile. “Hm?”

“Oh, nothing. I’m glad we ran into each other, too.” Adrien’s eyes dart around as he searches for a change of subject. “So, ah, you said you got ditched?”

Luka nods, spooning some pink-orange ice cream into his mouth. “Juleka and Rose wanted to get André’s ice cream, but…” He waves the spoon as he searches for words. “They were afraid to come alone.”

“That makes sense,” Adrien says. “Unfortunately.”

Although he’s rather dense when it comes to affairs of the heart, he’s suspected for a while that Juleka and Rose are an item. No one ever _said_ anything, though, so this is the first time he’s been sure. They’re both nice girls. He hopes no one’s giving them trouble.

“Yeah,” Luka says. He licks off his spoon and digs it back into the ice cream. “So I tagged along. I wasn’t going to get anything, but then André gave me a cone on the house. I thought that was a little weird, but I don’t turn down free food.”

“He does that sometimes,” Adrien says, recalling the first ice cream he got from André. “Did he say anything?”

Luka shrugs. “Not really. Just his famous spiel. André’s ice cream brings hearts together. It’s the ice cream of love. Couples that eat his ice cream stay together forever.” He sucks another bite of ice cream off his spoon, and Adrien’s embarrassed to admit that he’s watching Luka’s lips instead of his eyes. “Isn’t that a little odd?” Luka adds. “Giving ice cream to a single guy?”

Adrien raises his own ice cream cone in answer. “He did it for me, too.”

He’s stuck on something Luka said, though: _Couples that eat André’s ice cream stay together forever._

Hasn’t Chat Noir had André’s ice cream with Ladybug before? Shouldn’t that have…well, cemented things? Then again, Monsieur Ramier had been there with them. Maybe that made André’s magic malfunction. Or—or what if that means _Monsieur Ramier_ is Adrien’s soulmate now?

Horrified, Adrien stares at his ice cream cone, his eyes wide and unblinking. Monsieur Pigeon, his soulmate? No, it’s impossible! The man is at least three times his age! And he likes _birds_. Adrien has a feather allergy! This can’t be happening.

“Something wrong?” Luka asks.

Upon closer examination of the ice cream, Adrien realizes that he’s being ridiculous. His ice cream order doesn’t look anything like Monsieur Ramier. It’s more likely that Adrien is cursed to be forever alone. In fact, that’s probably what André was getting at when he talked about the Seine: _Go eat your ice cream with the river. It’s your only friend._

“Adrien?” Luka says, softly. “Did I say something?”

“No,” Adrien says, shaking his head. “No, I was just lost in thought.”

Luka grimaces. “It doesn’t seem like it’s a good thought.”

“It’s nothing,” Adrien says. “I, uh…don’t know if I want to talk about it.”

“That’s fine,” Luka says. “You can do charades, if you want. Or interpretative dance, or something. Personally, I communicate with music, so I’m not picky.”

Adrien snorts, trying to imagine what an interpretive dance about his problems would look like. _Embarrassing,_ his mind supplies. “I’ll stick with words,” Adrien says. “Uh, well, the first time I met André, he gave me a free ice cream, too. He basically told me it would bring me and my true love together, but…”

Luka smiles sympathetically. “It hasn’t?”

“No,” Adrien says, deflating. “And worse…” He sighs, staring sullenly at his ice cream cone. “He gave me a different order today. But he still said the same thing. I just…I don’t know. I guess I feel stupid for buying into his magical ice cream nonsense _._ ”

“You’re not stupid,” Luka says. “He’s pretty convincing. And he has all those testimonials, too. Maybe there’s some truth to it.”

Adrien shakes his head. “It’s just a stupid cone of ice cream.”

“Stupid ice cream is still ice cream,” Luka says. “You might want to eat yours now. It’s starting to melt.”

“Oh, you’re right.” Adrien lifts the cone to his mouth and licks the ice cream from bottom to top, trying to get a taste of both flavors. He scowls when he’s finished. “I…don’t think raspberry goes with cotton candy.”

Luka bites his spoon, smothering a laugh.

“What?” Adrien asks.

Motioning to Adrien’s nose, Luka says, “Your nose is a little blue.”

Confused, Adrien wriggles his nose. Now that Luka mentions it, there’s definitely something cold and wet in the middle of his face. “Oh.” He swipes his hand across his face, capturing the ice cream, and licks it off. “Did I get it?”

“Yeah. Just like a cat.” Grinning, Luka raises an eyebrow. “Is that how you usually clean yourself?”

“N-no,” Adrien says, cheeks burning. “I bathe like the rest of the world! Naked. Uh, I mean. In water. Naked in water. That is to say, naked…in a shower.” _Stop saying naked! Stop saying naked!_ “Um, I have a really big shower, actually, you could probably fit five or six people in there—”

He clamps his mouth shut when Luka starts laughing loudly. It’s a saving grace, really, because Adrien’s not sure what he would have blurted out next. And of course, it doesn’t hurt that Adrien loves Luka’s laugh. It’s straight from the diaphragm, deeper and louder than Adrien would expect from someone as reserved as Luka, but it captures his baritone voice beautifully. Adrien would gladly brag about every bathroom fixture in his house if it meant he got to hear more of that laugh.

Still laughing, Luka wipes a tear from his eye. “You were…I’m sorry, just, bragging about your shower was…” He exhales, and the laughter dies off. “Cute.”

Adrien’s glad he has ice cream on hand, because he definitely needs something to cool the blazing fire in his cheeks. He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. “This is embarrassing.”

“I don’t know why you’d be embarrassed,” Luka says, though there’s a teasing glint in his eyes. “Your shower sounds impressive.”

Fleetingly, Adrien wonders if his shower can wash away the shame of this conversation. “It—it’s not that special.”

“I live on a houseboat,” Luka reminds him. “I’m sure your shower is better than ours.”

Thankfully, Adrien has just enough self-control to stop himself from blurting out _YOU CAN USE MINE._ Instead, he laughs. “That’s true. I hadn’t thought about that.”

“You know,” Luka says, “you should stop by sometime.”

“Stop by…your shower?”

Luka’s eyes widen. “What? No, no.” He shakes his head, laughing again. “I meant the houseboat. It’s been a while since you played with the band.”

“Right,” Adrien says. He moves to lick his ice cream again, but after his last attempt, he’s too self-conscious. Frowning, he freezes with his tongue trapped between his teeth.

“Still like a cat.” Luka pulls an extra spoon from the side of his ice cream. “Do you need a spoon? André gave me two.”

Embarrassed, Adrien accepts the spoon from Luka and licks the remaining ice cream off it. The taste is sweet, fruity. “Peach?”

Luka nods. “It’s not my favorite, but it’s pretty good, yeah? I think it’s growing on me.”

“Here,” Adrien says, holding out his cone. “You can try some of mine, if you want. It’s only fair.”

“You don’t have to share,” Luka says. “I’m guessing you don’t get sweets that often.”

Adrien rolls his eyes. “I’m not on some terrible model diet like everyone thinks. You can try a bite.”

“If you say so.” Licking his lips, Luka leans forward and spoons off a large glob of cotton candy ice cream. Eyes scrunched in a smile, he slips the spoon into his mouth and closes his lips around it.

Adrien swallows nervously. _Look at his eyes. His eyes, Agreste!_

“H-hey,” Adrien says. “That was a pretty big bite.”

Raising his eyebrows, Luka says, “I thought you said you didn’t like it.”

“I don’t like the flavors _together_ ,” Adrien corrects. “Maybe cotton candy with bubblegum, or blue raspberry with peach, but I don’t like the combination of sugary and tangy flavors.”

“Are you a food critic, now?”

“No, I’m just critical of my food. It’s different.”

Luka shrugs, then dives in for another spoonful of cotton candy. “Well—”

Adrien yanks the cone away, holding back a laugh. “I don’t think so. Get your own, Couffaine.”

For a moment, Luka seems to consider backing off. Then he leans forward, his expression stern and business-like. “I’ll trade you. Peach for cotton candy.”

“But I have another scoop underneath the cotton candy,” Adrien says. “How do I know you’ll give it back when you’re done?”

“I’m not an ice cream thief. Come on, trade me?”

“I don’t know, you kind of look like an ice cream thief to me.”

“Adrien, I don’t even like fruit flavors.”

“Nope. My mère always told me not to trust strange boys asking for my ice cream.”

Luka laughs. “Strange? Aren’t you the one who bragged about his shower size?”

“Ah, ah!” Adrien chides. “Don’t try to change the subject. I’m on to you.”

Looking amused, Luka asks, “And what’s my evil plan?”

“First you’re going to distract me with your good looks, and then you’re going to rob me of my ice cream. I paid good money for this, you know.”

Instead of continuing the banter, Luka pauses. His cheeks are tinged pink. “My good looks?”

Adrien stops and thinks back over what he just said. “Um. I mean.” He clears his throat. “Was there ever any question?”

“Well.” Shrugging, Luka shoves his free hand into the pocket of his jeans. “I’m not the model here.”

“What?” Adrien says, stunned. “You mean—you don’t realize…?” He stares at Luka in disbelief. “Luka, half the girls I know swoon whenever they see you. You’re practically a rock star to them.”

“What about the guys? Do they swoon, too?”

Once again, Adrien feels his cheeks heat. He’s half-tempted to smother his face in ice cream and see if that cools it down. “Uh. Well, I…I imagine at least some of them…also swoon.”

“It doesn’t sound like you mean it.”

“No, I’m sure they do!” Adrien says. “That is, I don’t talk to any guys about that sort of thing, but how could they not? I mean, look at me. I blush half the time I look at you.”

Then he freezes, unable to believe those words just came out of his mouth. No, no! He was doing so well, excluding the shower comment. He’d hardly said anything weird! Now Luka is never going to want to be friends with him.

Is there a way to undo this? Can Bunnix appear and turn back time? Won’t someone save him? Maybe if Adrien prays hard enough to Will Smith, he’ll appear and say _it’s rewind time._

“Are _you_ going to swoon?” Luka asks.

“I—I bet you’d like that,” Adrien says, running on autopilot. “After all, if I faint, you’ll have no trouble stealing my ice cream. But you can’t best me!”

He wags his ice cream cone at Luka for emphasis—and to his horror, blue droplets of ice cream fly at Luka, speckling his chin and the tip of his nose.

Luka blinks. “You know, that’s not what I meant when I said I wanted your ice cream.”

“Merde!” Adrien exclaims. “Ah, I'm really sorry, Luka. Uh, hold on. I can…clean that off.”

“The same way you cleaned your hand?”

“Sure, I…” Adrien trails off, feeling a new blush stain his cheeks. “No! No, I—I wouldn’t—I won’t lick you!”

“That’s reassuring.”

Panicked, Adrien searches his pockets for a napkin, a tissue, _something_ , but he doesn’t have anything on him besides his wallet, phone, and keys. Maybe he could use some paper money to wipe Luka’s face off? No, wait, that’s disgusting. Those bills have probably been in someone’s ass.

“It’s okay,” Luka says. “I think I can get it.”

Adrien watches as Luka’s tongue circles his lips, collecting each drop of ice cream with incredible precision. He even manages to get the droplets on his chin, which is oddly impressive.

“Um,” Adrien says, pointing, “there’s still some on your no—”

Luka’s tongue darts out and captures the remaining ice cream from his nose. “Did I get it?”

For a moment, Adrien can only stare at Luka in shock. Is Luka Couffaine part-snake or something? Because there’s no way that tongue is a human length.

“Adrien?” Luka says.

“Oh, yeah,” Adrien says. “You got me! I mean, _it_. You got it. Every last drop! Who needs napkins when you have…uh, an incredibly flexible tongue?”

Luka smiles sheepishly. “I guess being able to touch my nose with my tongue finally came in handy.”

“Here!” Adrien says, thrusting his cone toward Luka to distract him. He’s not sure he can handle a prolonged discussion about Luka Couffaine’s tongue. “You wanted to trade?”

Forehead creased in confusion, Luka nods and trades cones with Adrien. “Anyway,” he says, spooning some of the blue ice cream into his mouth. “Like I was saying earlier, it’s been a while since you played with Kitty Section. We’d be happy to have you sometime.”

“I’m sorry,” Adrien says. “Really. I’d come by more often, but my father hardly ever gives me permission to go out.”

“We could come to your place,” Luka offers.

Adrien sighs. “I wish. He hardly ever lets me have visitors, either.”

Luka pauses, his spoon hovering above the ground. A few drops of ice cream plop onto the stone below. “Adrien, that’s not right. You should be allowed to spend time with your friends.”

Adrien wants to protest like he always does, but Luka has a way of drawing the truth out of him. “I know, but he’s my father. There’s not much I can do.”

“I wish I could help,” Luka says. “But I’m not great at confrontation.”

Maybe not—but that could be what makes Luka so good at comforting people instead. “You’re pretty good at making people smile,” Adrien says. “That counts for something, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t make you uncomfortable?”

“What?” Adrien says. “No, of course not. I like being around you.”

Luka sighs in relief. “I’m glad. You were so flustered earlier, I thought…”

“Well, no one ever said I had great people skills,” Adrien says brightly. “Anyway, I’d love to come by the houseboat and play with you again. It’s just a matter of getting permission from my father. Well, that, or…”

“Or?”

Adrien shrugs, taking a bite of peach ice cream. Mouth half-full, he says, “I could sneak out. It doesn’t work when I’m out in the open, but as long as I’m inside a building—or a boat—the paparazzi can’t find me.”

“Sneak out?” Luka echoes. “How would you do that? Isn’t your mansion pretty high-security?”

“I have my ways,” Adrien says, winking. “But I’m afraid I can’t tell you what they are, Monsieur Couffaine.”

“I won’t pry,” Luka says, though there’s a strange look in his eyes. He almost seems…suspicious? Entertained? Adrien’s not exactly sure. He’s never been that good at reading people. “At any rate, if you ever do manage to sneak out, you’re welcome at the Couffaine houseboat.”

“I might take you up on that,” Adrien says. And, okay, now Luka’s definitely looking at him like he said something weird. “Luka? Did I say something wrong?”

As hard as it is, Adrien tries to tamp down the nerves bubbling in his chest. He’s always so quick to feel rejected—a brief pause from someone, the slightest hesitation before they answer, and disappointment comes crashing over him like a tidal wave. Logically, he knows he doesn’t have to fear rejection from Luka. And yet, as Adrien waits for Luka to explain, it’s suddenly a bit harder to breathe.

“Breathe, Adrien,” Luka says, as if he’s read Adrien’s mind. Either that, or Adrien has visibly stopped breathing. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I was thinking about something else.”

Adrien exhales heavily. “Sorry, I…I’m pretty quick to feel rejected.” He flails his right hand, accidentally flinging a spoonful of peach ice cream across the bridge. “I’m trying to work on it! But sometimes, well, I…”

“Feel like the world is ending because someone told you _no?”_

“Yeah.” Adrien squints at Luka. “Have we talked about this before?”

Smiling, Luka shakes his head. “No. I know someone with a similar problem.” He reaches out and gently touches Adrien’s arm. His hand is warm, a little sticky against Adrien’s skin. “I’m not going to reject you, Adrien. Especially not over a minor thing like saying something weird.”

Adrien points his spoon at Luka accusatorily. “So I _did_ say something weird!”

“No, you didn’t.” Luka’s eyes flick down to Adrien’s spoon, trained on the utensil as if it’s a weapon of mass destruction. “And watch where you point that thing.”

“What, you don’t want to add peach to the cotton candy on your face?”

“I got all the cotton candy,” Luka points out.

Right. He already licked off the ice cream with his ridiculously long tongue, and—oh, merde, why is Adrien still thinking about that?

Humming to himself, Adrien scoops another bite of peach ice cream onto his spoon. “I wonder how the peach tastes with the cotton candy.”

Luka drops his hand from Adrien’s arm, and it feels a little like a bandage falling off—the spot feels cold and raw without the warmth of his touch. “No takebacks. We already traded.”

“Don’t make me use my secret weapon.”

“What’s that?”

Slightly embarrassed—but very determined to test this flavor combo—Adrien tilts his head down, juts out his lower lip, and glances up at Luka with two wide eyes. _Try to resist my sad kitten eyes. I dare you. None in Paris are strong enough!_

Luka makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat. “That’s…that’s not…”

Still pinning Luka with his gaze, Adrien clasps his hands together around the cone. “Please, Luka? You wouldn’t… _reject me,_ would you?”

Sighing, Luka glances up at the sky. Adrien barely suppresses a laugh. Ha! As if some god above will save him from Adrien’s kitten eyes. Does Luka Couffaine really think he’s the first man to beg for divine aid? Fine, let him try. He’ll still succumb like all the others.

Adrien counts down from ten in his head. Luka, to his credit, makes it to three.

Shoulders slumped, Luka holds out the cotton candy ice cream to Adrien. His lips wobble in a poorly-concealed smile. “How are you so irresistible?“

“Practice.” Grinning, Adrien dips his spoon into the cotton candy, combining it with the peach he’s already scooped up. “It’s a skill, the same as fencing or playing piano. Granted, you have to stare into a mirror for hours like a crazy person if you want to master it—but the end result is worth it.”

Luka watches Adrien as he lifts the spoon to his mouth. “What if I just stare at you?” he asks. “Would that do the trick?”

Adrien purses his lips. “Maybe,” he says. “You might gain some resistance, anyway. But full immunity is impossible.”

“Even for your father?”

Adrien smirks. “How do you think I convinced him to send me to public school?”

“You’re too powerful,” Luka says. “No one stands a chance against you. How is that fair?”

Leaning forward, Adrien says, “In that case, I’ll give you a hint. You see, I can’t deploy my sad kitten eyes if I’m flustered or distracted. Manage to do that, and you have the advantage.”

Luka leans forward as well. “Is that so?”

Adrien nods. “Of course, I’m not so easily defeated. You’d have to get creati—”

Maintaining eye contact, Luka reaches out with his free hand and curls it around the hand Adrien’s using to hold his spoon. Adrien stands frozen, mouth gaping, as Luka guides the spoon away from Adrien and toward himself. Luka’s chest shakes with laughter as he closes his lips around the spoon and removes it from his mouth, every last drop of ice cream sucked from the plastic.

“Like that?” he asks, his mouth far too close to Adrien’s. As if to add insult to injury, he swipes his tongue around his lips.

“Y-yep!” Adrien says, his voice an octave too high and several decibels too loud. “Just like that. Great example!”

He moves to take back his hand—and the spoon it’s holding—but Luka doesn’t let go. “I think you’re right,” Luka says. “The peach would probably go better with the blue raspberry.”

“Well, now we know,” Adrien says. “Uh, can I have my hand back?”

Ignoring him, Luka digs the spoon into the peach and tugs Adrien’s hand toward the blue raspberry.

“Now, wait a second,” Adrien says. “You said you wouldn’t take my—”

Luka scoops some blue raspberry onto the spoon, then holds it up to Adrien’s mouth. “You can try this one.”

Adrien casts a desperate glance to the heavens—but alas, the gods have abandoned him as well. “Uh…okay.”

Like a turtle emerging from its shell, Adrien awkwardly juts his head forward and takes the spoon in his mouth. Then he closes his eyes, letting the ice cream flavors melt together on his tongue. It’s tangy and sweet, but the _right_ kind of sweet: fruity, not sugary. Adrien hums in satisfaction.

“Is it good?” Luka asks.

Adrien’s eyes snap open. He barely even registers that he’s blushing again, since that seems to be the permanent state of his face this afternoon. “Yeah,” he says. “You can try it, too.”

Apparently having mercy on Adrien, Luka finally lets go of his hand. Using his own spoon, he combines the peach with the blue raspberry and tastes it. With a nod, he says, “The peach definitely goes better with the raspberry. The flavors blend more easily.”

“Now who’s the food critic?”

Luka taps his spoon against his chin. “Then again…the cotton candy and the peach have a strange sort of harmony, too. It’s not conventional, but I could see them working together.” He shrugs. “I feel like there’s a musical analogy I’m missing. Hopefully you follow.”

“I think so,” Adrien says. “Let me try it and see.”

When Adrien tastes the cotton candy with the peach, he thinks he might understand what Luka means. The flavors don’t harmonize perfectly, but they’re not dissonant, either. Together, they form a strange middle ground, existing somewhere between satisfactory and off-putting. In a way, it’s how Adrien feels around Luka: comfortable, yet unbalanced at the same time.

Adrien licks his lips. “You know, I think I prefer that combination.”

“The peach and cotton candy?” Luka says. “Yeah, me too. I like the uncertainty, if that makes any sense.”

“It does.” Adrien motions between the two cones. “We could keep combining them, if you prefer.”

That’s exactly what they end up doing—and soon, after a few minutes of talking and eating, there’s nothing left but the blue raspberry ice cream. Despite claiming he doesn’t like fruit flavors, Luka helps Adrien finish that, too.

After that, the two work on their cones, taking tiny bites and talking more than eating. Adrien’s not sure about Luka, but personally, he wants to prolong their conversation as long as possible. On this bridge with Luka, he feels warm and alive. He doesn’t want to go back to his empty mansion.

Adrien is halfway through a rant about the soundtrack for the new Ultimate Mecha Strike game when his phone buzzes with a text from Nathalie.

“Is that your father?” Luka asks, wiping crumbs from the corner of his mouth. Fortunately for Adrien, he uses his hand like a normal person, instead of licking the crumbs with his tongue.

Adrien skims the text and shakes his head. “It’s his assistant, Nathalie. Père hardly ever texts or calls me personally. He’s too busy.”

Luka’s face contorts into one of his rare scowls. “Does that bother you?”

“Whether it does or not, it won’t make a difference. He’s not going to change.” Adrien pockets his phone with a sigh. “She says I need to come home and get started on my homework.”

“It’s Friday.”

“Tell that to my father.” Adrien shoves the last bit of his cone into his mouth and crunches on it. “If I’m lucky,” he adds, voice muffled by food, “I’ll get it done by Sunday and have some free time that day.” He swallows and offers Luka a smile. “Maybe I can stop by the houseboat then.”

“I’d like that.”

Adrien brushes his hands off on his jeans, then holds out a hand for Luka to shake. “I’ll see you around?”

But Luka doesn’t shake the hand. He just stares at Adrien expectantly, his arms slightly opened and raised.

 _Oh, no._ Not this again. Last time, when Adrien visited Luka as Chat Noir, he’d made the mistake of going for a handshake when Luka expected a hug—and now, it seems, he is cursed to relive the embarrassment.

With a deep breath, Adrien gives Luka a quick hug, barely wrapping his arms around him before withdrawing.

“I don’t bite, you know,” Luka says.

Adrien almost responds that it’s Luka’s tongue, not his teeth, that he’s concerned about. Fortunately, he squashes that thought before it makes its way out of his mouth. Instead, he says, “I know. But you know what they say! Always leave them wanting more.” He winks and shoots a finger gun at Luka. “Until next time.”

Luka waves. “Ciao, Adrien.”

Before Adrien turns to leave, he remembers André’s words from earlier. “Hey, Luka,” he says. “Would you say the water is bluer on this end of the bridge?”

Luka takes a moment to glance up and down the bridge. “No, it all looks the same to me. Why?”

“Ah, nothing,” Adrien says, waving a hand to dismiss the thought. “Just something André said.”

He starts to turn again, but Luka’s hand wraps around his arm before he can. It gives Adrien a strange sense of déjà vu—wasn’t this how Chat Noir’s departure from Luka’s houseboat played out? Oh, merde, he remembers now: Luka grabbed his arm, said something embarrassing, and then Adrien fell into the Seine. Is he going to repeat _that_ part, too?

“Adrien,” Luka says. “If you’re ever upset about your father, you can talk to me. I might not have much to say, but I can listen.”

Adrien stares at Luka, his throat suddenly tight. That’s all he’s ever really wanted: someone to listen, to _understand_ , to know that Adrien’s lying when he says everything is fine. And if Adrien’s being fair, Luka kind of deserves more than a one-second hug for that.

After a moment’s hesitation, he wraps his arms around Luka’s torso and settles his chin on his shoulder. “Merci, Luka.”

“That’s better,” Luka says, returning the hug. “Shaking hands is for strangers, Adrien. You don’t need to feel awkward about hugging me.”

 _Awkward_ isn’t exactly the right word, though Adrien’s not sure how to describe the glow that’s blooming in his chest. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I prefer actions over words, anyway,” Luka adds. “It’s easier to convey what I mean.”

“Yeah, I—” Adrien breaks off as his phone buzzes in his pocket. “Zut. That’s probably Nathalie again. I’d better get going.”

He unwraps his arms from around Luka, but before he can take a step in any direction, Luka leans forward and presses a cold, featherlight kiss to Adrien’s cheek. “Take care, Adrien.”

The heat of the sun has nothing on the blush heating every centimeter of Adrien’s body. For a moment, he wishes Luka preferred words to actions—because what on earth was _that_ action supposed to mean?

Stunned, Adrien brushes his fingers against the spot Luka kissed. “Uh…”

Should he return the kiss? Is that the normal thing to do? Adrien knows the etiquette for faire la bise, but this seems different.

Before he can come to a decision, Luka takes a step back. “I’d better go find Rose and Juleka. I’ll see you around, Adrien.”

“À…à bientôt, Luka.”

With a smile and a brush of his hand against Adrien’s arm, Luka wanders away, and then Adrien is standing alone on the Pont des Arts bridge.

For a second, Adrien’s muscles seem locked into place. What just happened? He doesn’t know what to make of it, except to think that maybe Luka feels the same way—that maybe Luka wants to be better friends, too. Because as far as Adrien can tell, there’s no other explanation for Luka doing something that intimate when they’ve only hung out a few times. Or is there?

Then his phone buzzes again, breaking the spell. Adrien whips it out and types a response to Nathalie, then strolls back toward where the Gorilla is waiting for him.

He licks his lips, tasting the remnants of peach, raspberry, and cotton candy. It’s a strange symphony of flavors, to be sure, but something about the taste makes Adrien smile. He wonders what Luka’s other flavor was. He’ll have to ask next time he sees him.

As he walks back past André’s cart, Adrien raises his hand in greeting. “Bonsoir, André!”

“Ah, Adrien Agreste!” André sings. “You’re still here. Was the ice cream to your liking?”

Adrien nods. “It was great. Thank you.”

“Next time,” André says, pointing his ice cream scoop at Adrien, “I hope to see you here with a sweetheart!”

“We’ll see,” Adrien says.

With a smile, he departs, fairly certain that he’ll end up visiting André alone again. Really, though, that’s not so bad. Even if André gets his order wrong, the ice cream is still delicious. In fact, oddly enough, Adrien thinks he might even like the cotton candy flavor more than the strawberry. It’s different, for sure: softer, sweeter, not as tart. But it’s a good kind of different.

And if Adrien happens to run into Luka again, well—he’s looking forward to the taste of cotton candy and peach.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If anyone has questions or just wants to chat, I’m somewhat active on [Tumblr](http://ominousunflower.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Also, good news for Plagg: apparently cheese ice cream is an actual thing, particularly in the Philippines. Sadly, though, I highly doubt André has that flavor.
> 
>  **A few translations:**  
>  glacier - ice cream maker  
> La glace d’André, c’est d’amour – André’s ice cream is love’s ice cream  
> On ne doit jamais douter, la magique de ce glacier! – One must never doubt this ice cream maker’s magic!  
> zut – dang it  
> à bientôt – see you later  
> faire la bise – to greet each other with a double kiss (on the cheek)  
> bonsoir – good evening  
> 


End file.
